Motionless in the gail wind, winter pelts draped about them for camouflage, they wait in the frigid wastes, preying upon dire beasts and arctic horrors that lurk in the deep washes of snow. Frost elves are around six feet tall, lean and trim, like a frozen corpse. Their skin is gaunt and pale with a tinge of blue on the tips of their extremities. Squinting in the bright sunlight of the snowy desert, their eyes are a chilly pale blue or even white. Their hair, left to flow freely in the wind, has tinges of colors like blues and purples, but is so pale, that only frost elves, with their keen sight and pickiness, ever care to make a distinction other than white.

Frost elves despise the warmth of other races. Cozying up around a fire with others to tell stories sickens them. A snarl crosses their lips at the mention of such activities. Frost giants don't get along well with frost elves, but occasionally, during times of a common enemy, the two form temporary, and shaky, alliances.

They live in remote, frozen wastelands and high mountain peaks. They thrive in blizzards and lands that would kill other races in minutes.

Frost elves do not have many possessions, as living in such foreboding lands affords them little resources. As such, their possessions are often very old, handed down for generations and kept in prime order.

Their culture is held together by a ruling king and queen, who are worshiped like gods. The royal family presides over their countrymen and they keep strict borders. Trespassers are almost always attacked on sight, and those who surrender are questioned and imprisoned, where they often die of mistreatment within a short time.

Frost-elves take pride in their names, as they are based on their own actions, deeds and accomplishments. The names they are given include unique surnames, given based on events at birth, early childhood, and any time up to their first kill.